


The Liar from Postwick

by simplelovelyfanfics



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Adults being mean to children, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Coercion, Gaslighting, Gen, Hop Protection Squad, Lyra is Gloria btw, Manipulation, Maybe one actually, Original Characters - Freeform, Several original characters but they're not really important, but not really, fuck consumerism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22964032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplelovelyfanfics/pseuds/simplelovelyfanfics
Summary: "Disgraced Siren of the Battlefield, Lyra, publishes tell-all exposé about her time as the most infamous Galarian League Champ."You are one of the lucky few who are able to get their hands on a copy of the sold-out book on its release day. You crack it open as soon as you get the opportunity. What you read is a memoir of a vulnerable girl's life, sullied yet not ruined by fame, fortune, and the "Fucker Three".
Relationships: Hop/Yuuri | Gloria
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	1. LIAR

I didn’t mean to become champion. In fact, I apologized when I did.

No one expected much of a girl like me. While doing research for this, I discovered that very few sports betters put down money on me winning. Sure, I’ve got Postwick running in my veins just like the Champ I didn’t mean to decimate. That’s it though. Nothing more.

Lyra the Liar I was at school. Fortunately, the little rhyme was all the teasing I received. I’m not much of a liar I think. “Trevenants take the little liars away.” I believed it through and through. So I do my best not to lie. Sure, a white lie here and there. Nobody’s perfect. But that’s all.

I felt like such a liar when Leon’s Charizard hit the ground.

Balor had somehow knocked him out despite the very obvious disadvantages. Balor is the Cinderace I’ve known since I was a wee lassie, half-blind on top of the “fighting fire with fire” mess. I’ve never been a fan of numbers but the likelihood of my Balor landing a Pyro Ball right in between Charizard’s eyes was practically zero. My pappie used to say that it is not the fire that burns the wood. It is the stone that struck it. The stone was a pebble Balor happened to find on the grass somewhere and kicked at him. Who wouldn’t flinch when you get one right between the eyes? Cinderaces have a kick like you wouldn’t believe - worse than a Mudsdale’s - so the flinch became a knockout.

I got lucky. I won because I got lucky.

I’m a phony, a fake, Lyra the Liar.

I cried my eyes out as soon as the announcer made the announcement. Challenger Lyra is the new Champion. The defeat of the decade, the newspapers called it. As the crowd roared, I sobbed. As I dropped to my knees, Balor looked upon my fragile form with this fervent worry in his half-dead eyes. 

I gave Leon his well-deserved apology after he tossed his hat up in the air. For some reason, he had the gall to smile after such an embarrassing end to his reign.

“Are you alright?” he asked with that kindness a good champion should have in their voice, “I keep on telling the refs to let the challengers wear goggles during these battles. One bad sandstorm and boom, you lose an eye or something.”

“I’m sorry.”

I have been an avid reader of fantasy novels since I could read. Postwick is in my blood but the draw to the old, mythical, and mystical is there too. I find that many famous fantasy authors have trouble expressing their characters’ emotions during what would be heart-wrenching scenes. So please understand that because of this, I am inclined to have trouble doing the same as I write this memoir. A person is only as good as their heroes after all.

That apology came out of the mouth of the girl known for her voice on the field. Running snot was getting on my lips. Salty tears were beating down on my cleats. My whole body ached in a way that I had never felt prior. It was a genuine apology, the truest I could give. Because I did not deserve my victory.

God, the puppy dog eyes he gave me when he realized it wasn’t sand in my eyes. He Looked just like his brother when he’s sad.

“What could you be apologizing for?” He almost scoffed when he asked that, smiled too. “You made me eat my words when all I was doing was giving you smack talk since you got on this field.”

“I shouldn’t have won. I got lucky.”

Leon did this little nod as he put his hands on my shoulders. And he smiled as he told me, “I shouldn’t have won my championship match either.”

I gave him a funny look.

He continued, “Also pure luck. His Duraludon tripped. I didn’t know Duraludons could even trip until then. But he did. And I won. And after I won, I told myself that luck will always be on my side if I train hard enough. So, I worked and worked and worked and I got cocky because I heard all those stories about you from Hop. Look at me now. Got my butt whooped by a twelve-year-old from Postwick. Karma doesn’t like cocky types.”

Leon turned to Balor as if he hadn’t just said all of that and gasped. His eyes were glittering. He had to put his hands on his knees, crouch down a little just to look at my wonderful bunny boy.

“So this is Balor. What a beaut. He’s really blind?”

“Only one eye is gone. The other has nearly perfect vision.”

“Wow. No wonder he was able to get Charizard with such an old trick. He isn’t just fast. He’s sharp. The likelihood of that happening has got to be next to none by the way. Only Balor could be able to pull that off with such accuracy. No other Pokemon on Earth could have done that.”

I already knew that.

Leon took off his hat, tossed it up in the air with a smile on his lips.

“You didn’t get lucky. Only a trainer as good as you could have done what you did today.”

He took out his Charizard’s Pokeball, zapped it back inside, put his home back on his hips. Then with this playfulness, he spun on his heel back to me.

“Lyra the Liar,” he jokingly called me, “you’re only a liar today because you’re lying to yourself. You’re a Fire-type, kid. You really are. Now c’mon! Let’s show the world how amazing you are.”

He grabbed my hand and swung it high in the air, making the already cheering crowd nearly bring the house down.

That didn’t help much.

* * *

I’m glad I convinced Ariana, my sweet, sweet editor, to let me start my memoir with that story rather than the typical grandiose tale of my birth and childhood. My birth was average. My childhood was brief. I’m even more glad that I convinced her to have the juicy bits scattered about rather than the big chunk she originally wanted. My career as Champion was a jumbled-up mess. So please accept what you want in said messy format.

You picked up this memoir because you want the truth. Not the manufactured truth the masses gobbled up all eight years of my reign as Galarian League Champion. You want the real, bonafide truth. I shall be as honest as I can. With honesty comes embarrassing recollections of silly things silly kids do. And I was very much a silly kid all throughout my “career”. So imagine my cringing and wincing as I explain how my heart and mind worked back then. And please read with an open mind. I know my words will be twisted. They’ve been for as long as I can remember. But I hope that you, current reader, will not be the one to do so.

My notoriety was the work of corporations disagreeing with my no’s and turn-downs for collaborations and twisting me up into a walking mess I wasn’t. I won’t deny that I was a walking mess back then. I still am in some ways. But I wasn’t the snarky, overconfident brat my image was crafted to be. In actuality, I was a sniveling, unconfident train wreck, constantly a step away from panic attack.

That is why I will admit this to this day: I should have never become Champion.

No one wanted the real me. The real me was a country girl who found solace in meadowland and novel. The real me always wore her pappy's glasses. Instead, the image I was known for was manufactured. Sponsors looked at analytics, found what their consumers wanted in a Champion, proceeded to put clay all over me and attempt to mold me into this idea that I just would never be. They never goddamn let me wear my dead grandfather’s glasses for example. I wasn’t malleable. I’m still stubborn as a Mudbray. So I never should have become Champion.

As you can sense, I am bitter but not at the consumerism that has taken over the Galar Pokemon League. I am bitter at myself. I could never get a grip, get my tail out from between my legs. I deserved all of the mayhem I caused by not standing up for myself. I should have been on anti-anxiety meds. But I thought my worries were normal and leaders and Champs can’t be caught taking drugs of any kind.

Galar saw me at my worst. And I can never stop apologizing for how things went.

I will start things off softly. If I must reminisce, I’d like to do so through the eyes of my Pokemon. Because there would be no League without Pokemon. I would not be whole without mine either. I can’t imagine the day I will lose my Balor or Gwydion or Morrigan or Olwen or Arawn or Oberon. I simply cannot. We are connected in a way that goes beyond words or sounds. They are the reason this siren sings.

But things will eventually turn sour, just as my life did the moment Leon gave me his throne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This isn't my first fanfic but this is my first Pokemon one. I hope you guys enjoy this fanfic, especially the odd format of it. Fanfictions can be considered a form of literature after all. Why not write a fake book while I'm a busy college student? Hahaha.  
> This is gonna be a bad decision, ain't it?  
> Anyway, updates will be infrequent but hopefully, I'll garner the motivation to finish this. If you need me, I'll be eating some gluten-free muffins and making so, so many logos. I really hope you have a nice day!


	2. BALOR

Balor, my famous Cinderace and second friend in the world. An old man he is now but he still has that hop in his step and that charisma that made him a star a decade ago.

I met him when he was only a Scorbunny my next-door neighbor came to me for help with. It began with a knock at the door. My parents taught me then not to open it but I was a bit of a brat as a little kid. Of course, I opened it and there was little Hop with the fainted mess of fur in his struggling arms.

“You’re a bookworm, right?” he asked.

I nodded. He was right to assume that. While other kids packed toys in their backpacks, I packed picture books. And even when I didn’t have a bag, I always took a novel with me.

“Good. You gotta take care of this Scorbunny for me.”

And he showed me what I still think is the goriest thing I’ve ever seen. The Scorbunny tried to startle a Mudbray. The attempt ended with the donkey kicking him right in his left eye. So I don’t remember the exact image (that’s childhood trauma for you) but I can imagine it wasn’t for the faint of heart.

“That looks bad,” I told him.

I had seen plenty of gross things before that. I never had to say something looked  _ bad _ before though.

“What’s that supposa mean?” he badgered.

“It means… I don’t know what to do.”

Because I was four years old. And so was he. And so was the Scorbunny in Scorbunny years for all we knew. And four years olds know crockshit.

“What’d ya mean you don’t know what to do? Leon says bookworms are smart and know everything. So bookworms are supposa know how to save Pokémon in need.”

“That’s not true. Bookworms don’t know everything.”

“Wha—“

“My Pappy does though. Follow me.”

Hop followed me through my house with no hesitation.

My grandfather passed when I was seven. But I was four then, thus he was still living and breathing and healing all who got the chance to know him. Pappy Rónán had a voice that sounded like a mountain god. Gentle as the Wooloos he shepherded though. He was the one who told me all the haunting tales of Slumbering Weald. He was the one who got me into fantasy novels. He was the one who taught me how to keep a stupid Scorbunny from bleeding out.

“I’m gonna teach you something that could save your life one day,” he told us four-year-olds. “Cauterizing a wound could mean the difference between life and death in some cases. It’s difficult to do but once you’re able to do it, you’re able to.”

Pappy’s Vulpix, Aoibhinn, came around and jumped on the “operating table” (Pappy’s workbench).

“Perfect. Hold the torch, will ya?” And he held his trusty metal one out for her to hold.

Aoibhinn held like it a Yamper would a bone and pointed the light upon the poor thing’s eye.

Pappy thanked it then picked up the lighter and prongs.

And that’s all I can remember until I woke up in bed an hour later. When I eventually found him again, Pappy told me my “little friend” and I got a case of the vapors. But the Scorbunny was fine for now.

Of course, I went to go check on it. Pappy put the furry patient in the fruit crate that would end up being his bed. Old sweaters were the mattress and quilt. A ratty towel was a pillow. The poor thing was sleeping like he was in a luxury hotel. A piece of gauze was over the eye and bandages were wrapped around his head. There was also a little plaster on his foot. Maybe it was a boo-boo he got at one point.

Hop stumbled into the room right around when the bunny started stirring. Pappy informed him of his fainting. Hop didn’t seem even slightly concerned.

“Is it gonna be alright?” Hop asked.

“Yes, yes. He’s lucky I’m a lover of fire types. If Aoibhinn wasn’t here, I’d have to scoop that eyeball out with a melon baller.”

Hop and I cracked up, thought he was joking. As an adult, I realize that he was probably going to do it. He was always a man of his word.

Pappy stepped out. Hop asked if I’d take care of the Scorbunny. I agreed of course. I was frail as a child. So I worked to help other frail creatures prosper. The bunny was frail. So I needed to assist him.

Pappy saved his eye but not his sight. The poor thing was so confused when we couldn’t figure out why his vision had changed so drastically. When he figured it out though, he sniffled and cried and became the anxious Scorbunny I grew to love. He aged overnight, became a probable shell of himself. Have you ever seen a depressed Scorbunny? If you haven’t, imagine the saddest thing you can think of. Now, imagine that on top of a Scorbunny frowning at you. That feeling you are getting - that is what it felt to live with Balor for the first couple of years I knew him.

Hop was the one who tricked me into keeping him by the way. He stopped by once the bunny stopped fidgeting with the makeshift eyepatch I fashioned from doll clothes and a crummy shoelace on its head. I told him to take the bunny back. Hop told me to stop lying, that he asked me to care for the Scorbunny  _ forever _ . I don’t remember if he said the “forever” bit. But I went along with it because it was sad but it wouldn’t be sad forever.

Hop also asked if I had any cool toys to play with. It was like he never left the house after that. And I was just like that in his home. And my Scorbunny spent the next two years with me, watching the world go by with the lethargy that I would only understand a decade later.

* * *

All of my Pokémon are named after mythological characters. Gods or beings that humans worshipped in the days before Pokémon. Gods that have been forgotten by history and technology and the cuteness of Pikachus. My father was a historian. My mother a mythologist. As you can guess, they didn’t just make me a fantasy nerd. They made me a history dork on top of that. So what they studied, I obsessed over as a girl. And they loved the culture of the ancestors of Galar folk. They loved the puzzling rhythms on the tongue, the singing language. They loved the river gods and sky goddesses. So I loved them all too.

It took two years to name that Scorbunny. I wanted it to be a name that enthused my good hopes for the dingbat. During that time, he followed me everywhere I went. He had separation anxiety beyond compare. I like to think he evolved into the Raboot I started the League Challenge with just because he got so worked up one day. But it took him six years to evolve. Regardless, he followed me like a Ducklett following its Swanna momma. I didn’t mind it one bit. I was just as nervous as he. So him being with me made me feel a little less alone.

Pappy would eventually give the bunny boy his name. Pappy started getting the cough of death around then. After another close call with his maker, I asked him what I should name him. Pappy said to lookup an individual by the name of Balor. His name would suit the rabbit. Thus, I went to my parents’ book collection and began my research.

Balor wasn’t that great of a person in the myths. Tyrannical giant apparently. But he was blind in one eye. And when he opened that eye, all hell broke loose. It was then that I realized that was what I wanted for the bunny. I wanted the scared little thing to set the world on fire. I even told him that while we were on the floor reading that book.

“Ya name is Balor now, bunny boy. ‘Cause I want ya to set the world on fiyah.”

My Postwick accent was thick back then. I miss it.

Balor also represented drought, the scorching sun, things that Fire-types could cause in a region if a group of them got pissed off enough and used Sunny Day on repeat out of spite. Scorbunnies scorch everything they touch.

The Scorbunny was always trembling like a broken cell phone. But when I told him that, he stopped for just a moment. And there was this little fire in his eye.

So Balor became Balor.

* * *

I saw the potential in Balor around the time the Lyra the Liar thing started.

I don’t believe Hop meant to start it but he certainly did. It was over an innocent thing. I can’t remember what it was for the life of me. It was just before my Pappy died. But I remember he sang “Lyra the Liar, you’ve done it again” or something along those lines. Still, someone overheard it. And that someone told someone else. And that someone else told all of their laddies or girlies. Soon enough, I was a public embarrassment before I could even divide properly.

Still can’t, by the way. Sorry, Mum.

I was hurt by it. Being constantly called a liar does a lot to a child. It might be why it was so hard to even write this book. Would anyone believe anything I said now? Absolutely not. Because I’m Lyra the Liar.

I would come home from school constantly in tears. My parents thought it was because Pappy died. But when they saw I kept on doing it three years after his death, they figured something was wrong. I never told them. Because how would they believe anything I said? I was a liar, right?

The problem was solved right before I went on the Challenge. Because Balor finally got sick of it. And he kicked rocks at my tormentors one day until they pissed off. And one of those rocks caught fire and burnt a hole in one of their pants pockets. And I thought that wow, did he just try to use Pyro Ball? And I looked at him and he looked at me.

A week later, I was off on the Challenge.

* * *

Balor has a bad case of what I’d like to call Yamper Syndrome. Compared to most folks of his species, he’s more on the small side. Also, the blind eye. So he makes up for it by being a complete jackass. He’ll start a fight with anything that moves, even if that thing is twice his size. But he’ll win it somehow. 

It didn’t start right after he evolved. I was maybe seven or eight years old when he did evolve. I came home from school and lo and behold a Raboot broke into my house. The only reason I didn’t toss him out was because of the cloudy left eye. As I wrote previously, I believe Balor had something like a Poké-anxiety attack and he forced himself to evolve. It would be the only explanation. I hadn’t started training him yet. He had no desire or need to evolve.

I noticed he wasn’t jittery anymore though. So somehow, one evolution was like years of therapy and psychiatric aid for him. I will never make fun of how Balor was when he was a Scorbunny. He went through a life-changing, traumatic experience. He had a reason for his moods. Instead, I am blessed that a single evolution helped him so much.

Regardless, he wanted to train now. And he did do that Pyro Ball from before just to prove how much he wanted to train. So I went on the Challenge to give him what he wanted.

Well, no. Not that. That’s not true. I went because Hop was leaving me to go on it. He dreamt of it all of his life. Well, not that either. It was almost mandatory for him to do it. His brother is fucking Leon after all. His mother and grandparents are wonderful but as an adult, I realize how much they pushed Hop to the side to the spotlight to his brother. Hop has never expressed having any negative feelings towards Leon but I wonder if maybe he was hiding something from me. Regardless, on his tenth birthday, Leon came and gave him a choice of three starter Pokemon as a present. His Thwackey entered his life right then and there and Hop demanded I battle him. I did. And somehow I won though I never battled a day before in my life. And after my victory, I realized that Hop would never come back to Postwick. I would be alone in a place that treated me like a liar. So I followed after him the way a Falink followed its battalion - always looking forward, towards a future that could hurt me.

I wish I stayed home sometimes.

Anyway, once we joined the Challenge and Balor figured out we were going to be fighting other Pokémon for a living, that’s when the Yamper started coming out. His fears were gone, now replaced by a need to always be better, bigger, and stronger than someone else. And it was fine because he was still sort of small.

Then he evolved.

Balor as a Cinderace drives me  _ mad _ . When he’s around people, he’s great. He’s the cute half-blind bunny the kiddies adore. But when he sees a Pokémon - gods, I can’t control him. He knows that no means no. I raised him to know that. But he goes into Yamper mode. He either wants to befriend that Pokemon or kick it in the face. There is no in-between. He sent a battalion of Falinks flying off a cliff while I was making curry one afternoon. Just kicked them like they were just Unovan footballs across the field, one by one. And when I told him to stop, he looked at me while kicking the last one up, up, and away. 

Did I mention Balor can be an absolute bastard sometimes?

* * *

Despite his temper, Balor is very observant. Because of this, he taught himself not only human speech but social cues and mannerisms. He is quite funny if you give him time to trust you. When I was challenging the League, he could have a one-sided conversation with people. Fans were always shocked to see him respond to their silly questions. My favorite is when my mother asks him who’s the biggest cutie in the world and Balor points at himself. But when she asks who’s the ugliest, he points at Hop. And then I’d call him a liar and he meant to call me ugly but he won’t get snacks if he does. And then he looks at his feet in this shame I’ve never seen any other Pokémon but he replicate. Absolutely incredible!

Balor became an overnight sensation as soon as he reached his final evolution. Cinderaces look gorgeous on camera. They naturally have this winged eyeliner as sharp as a Steel Wing. Plus, the confident stance and fluffiness. Plus, he was an unstoppable force despite being half-blind. And the personality. How could someone not love an overconfident goofball like him? He’s like the hero of a Kantonian anime, cocky yet able to make people eat their words. His personality reminds me a lot of Hop during the beginning of the Challenge. People loved Hop immediately not just because he was the Champion’s brother. He had an inordinate ability to light up a room (and stadium) back then. And Balor did too.

Of course, I’ve heard some folks getting upset that I’m only seen on camera with Balor. There is no favoritism with my team. He’s always out his ball because, despite the whole Yamper syndrome, he has the personality to do so. The rest of my team can be hard to handle if they choose to act up. Balor knows when to stop (now). Plus, most of them get anxious in front of flashing lights and big crowds. Balor gets excited by them. 

He loves it when kids say he’s their hero by the way. Oh, you should see the way he lights up when a blind human tells him he’s amazing. We’ve had a few interactions with kids dealing with the issues he has and they always say they either want to be strong like Balor or encourage him to do his best. If you are a child who told him that, I’d like to assure you that I didn’t train him to react the way he does. That’s all his goofy self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *wakes up after a forty-year nap* Dude, what the shit is happening?  
> I hope all of you are safe out there right now. The world is going through a drastic change right now. If you can, fight for what you believe in with all of your heart. And take naps when you can. Also drink water? Water is good.


End file.
